


Merrily We Go to Hell

by schizoauthoress



Category: The Core (2003)
Genre: Cold War, Drabble Chain, Gen, M/M, Strong Language, Violence, spy AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-31
Updated: 2017-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:27:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23596081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/schizoauthoress/pseuds/schizoauthoress
Summary: Edward Brazzleton was just flirting with the cute European man on the train. He's not a master spy! What are you people talking about? He's a geologist!Note: another story in the "drabble chain" format -- every section is 100 words.
Relationships: Ed "Braz" Brazzleton/Conrad Zimsky
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3





	Merrily We Go to Hell

'No more celebrations,' Edward Brazzleton silently vowed, running as fast as he dared through the bustling train station. His lungs burned; his limbs ached. 'Not until concrete results!'

The platform was in sight! The doors were still open! Edward, relieved, went faster --

And slammed into a Hispanic man coming around the corner. They both fell.

"You clod!"

"S-sorry!" Edward stammered, scrambling for the scattered contents of his bag. He grabbed the briefcase that had gone flying from the stranger's hand and passed it on, gasping, "Didn't see you! Can't miss the train!" 

He darted for the doors, heedless of reply.

****

"Are you all right?"

Edward looked up. A different man, dark-haired and pale-skinned, had taken the seat across from him in the compartment.

"I saw your collision on the platform. You're not hurt?"

Edward shrugged. "I don't think so. Thanks for asking." The concern was a little unusual for him, a black man, to hear from someone white. But an accent colored the newcomer's voice. Edward couldn't identify it, but those clothes looked European -- stylish but understated.

The man laid a hand on Edward's knee, and Edward jumped, shocked.

"I hope you're not being a stubborn, macho American about it."

****

"I, ah... hope insults aren't going to set the tone of this conversation," Edward ventured, with a little smile. "We started so well."

"What..." the newcomer's brow furrowed as he thought back, then that handsome face cleared. "I happen to enjoy some machismo, in appropriate settings."

Edward laughed. "I suppose this isn't one of them." He leaned in. "I'm Edward."

"Conrad. It's a pleasure."

"That's the hope," Edward said, in a suggestive smirk. It was Conrad's turn to laugh; he gave Edward's leg a squeeze before moving his hand away. Edward's flirtations only rarely had this sort of promising start.

****

"The creation of the EPA gives me hope, actually," Edward said brightly. "Yes, they won't let me go drilling willy-nilly, but --"

"Willy-nilly," Conrad repeated, uncertainly.

Edward paused, then laughed at himself. Conrad had followed along with his most scientific of explanations since they'd claimed a table in the dining car, so well that Edward had forgotten his initial assessment of Conrad as a non-American. "Sorry. It's a technical term," he joked, "like higgledy-piggledy."

"I'm so sure," Conrad said, eyebrow raised. He was still smiling, as he took another drag on his cigarette.

"I'm an authority on American nonsense," Edward declared.

****

"You're lucky you're so charming," Conrad said coolly. 

"You're lucky to be the focus of my charms," Edward replied.

"Is that your offer? To be the focus of your attentions?" Conrad asked, stubbing out his cigarette.

Edward's breath caught in his throat. 'Do not fuck this up!' he told himself, then said -- in as casual a tone as he could manage, "Only if you'd be interested in such an experience, Conrad."

Both of Conrad's eyebrows went up at that, and he replied, "Oh, _indeed_."

"Shall we go somewhere more..." ('Not intimate, oh god...') "private?" Edward suggested.

"Lead the way."

****

"All right, Braz." Conrad said pleasantly. There was a gun in hand, pointed at Edward's chest. "Let's stop playing around."

Edward stepped back, hands aloft. "What the hell is this?" he demanded, voice shaking. He'd heard horror stories about straight men reacting with violence to a gay man's interest. This was terrifying. "You flirted back, Conrad! I thought--"

Confusion flickered in Conrad's eyes. "Stop acting."

"I'm not acting!"

"Give me the microfilm."

"What microfilm?" Edward asked.

"You know damn well you intercepted my drop!" Conrad yelled. "Hand it over, or I'll shoot! I have no problem ransacking your corpse."

****

"Why haven't you?" Edward asked. Then he remembered the situation, and mentally kicked himself for that thoughtlessly voiced curiosity.

Another wry smirk twisted Conrad's mouth. "Cool under fire. As expected from a government agent," he observed.

Edward's eyes widened. "A what? You think I'm--"

"I know what you are, Braz." Conrad insisted. "A spy, like me. Just... on the other side."

"My god," Edward groaned. "I have the worst fucking taste in men."

Conrad frowned, offended. "Excuse me?"

"I'm not with the government!" Edward cried. "They won't even fund my research!"

Silence.

"Well." Conrad lowered his gun. "This is embarrassing."

****

The frosted glass of the train compartment door spiderwebbed open with cracks; Conrad startled and turned to aim at the door. A gunshot rang out, and Conrad dropped his gun.

"On the floor! Now!" a new voice barked.

Conrad's dark eyes, sharp with pain, slid toward Edward. "Clever bastard," he hissed.

Edward's mouth had dropped open. "I'm not with him!"

"I said--" the angry voice started.

Edward grabbed for Conrad, yanking him downward. Conrad struggled, but Edward repositioned his grip over the gunshot wound and squeezed. Conrad yelped.

"Shut up. Stay down." Edward hissed. "You'll get us both killed, asshole!"

****

"Identify yourself to your colleague," Conrad said, tone mocking despite the obvious pain on his face. Edward glared at him like he was an irritating undergraduate in the lab.

"Asking you to shut up won't work, eh?" Edward quipped. Conrad's smirk widened, a silent affirmation.

The door rattled open, and both of them looked over. A stern, older-looking man stood there, gun in hand. He took in the tableau they made, especially Edward's grip on Conrad's bloodied arm. He nodded at Edward.

"Good work. But whatever agency you're with better share credit."

Edward clenched his teeth against a frustrated scream.

****

Edward watched as an AFOSI agent fished a tiny vial out of the disordered contents of his messenger bag, and realized -- the "drop" Conrad mentioned must have been the stranger he'd knocked down on the platform. Conrad had seen it, assumed it purposeful, and assumed Edward an enemy. 

Bob Iverson cleared his throat. "Dr. Brazzleton?"

"What will happen to Conrad?"

"We'll interrogate him. Finding out what secrets he's stolen, and passed on to the Soviets, is urgent."

"I see."

"Doctor, I should apologize --"

"Agent Iverson, apologies won't restore the private-sector grant I've missed out on because of these spy games."

****

"No... they won't," Bob conceded.

"Nor can you promise funding for my work," Edward said. "Not that I expect such a thing. It's not fair that some Communist mistook me for one of you, and wasted months of my appealing to science-minded wealthy benefactors. But I know life's not fair."

Bob stepped forward, so Edward could see him as he spoke. "My people tell me your work worries the higher-ups. That's why the denials."

"Military applications of deep-earth drilling worried the committee," Edward said. "Given how easily information is compromised these days --"

Bob protested, "That's not --"

"Fair?" Edward suggested wryly.

****

Bob deflated slightly. 

The pair watched the female agent continue checking over every inch of Edward's bag and papers. Edward didn't relish the possibility of walking off with another national secret on his person, so he'd rather wait this out.

The AFOSI agent hadn't taken much convincing to understand Edward was merely an unlucky private citizen, not some opportunistic spy from another sector of the intelligence community. Edward still didn't trust him entirely.

"What will happen to me?" Edward finally asked, "Am I being detained?"

Instead of answering, Bob said, "I could call in favors. Get your proposal another assessment."

****

"Really."

"No promises, as you expect. But the right people could be consulted, instead of bureaucrats?" Bob offered. "It's really the least we can do, I think. Unwittingly or not, you acted in service of our country, Dr. Brazzleton. It would be a shame if you suffered for that."

"Others have gone through worse, without reward," Edward replied. "You're generous, and I thank you."

Bob nodded, gratified by Edward's politeness. "I'll do what I can."

"As long as you don't ask me for a repeat performance of today," Edward said.

Bob chuckled dryly. "I'm sure everyone wants to avoid that."

****

Edward liked this cafe; he'd discovered it soon after relocating to Virginia. He rarely had a chance to visit, since his work -- in his government funded lab! -- kept him on-site for most lunch breaks. Some days, though, Edward couldn't resist the lure of their delicious Reubens.

His attention was entirely upon enjoyment of his lunch, so he was unprepared for the familiar voice that asked, "May I join you, Edward?"

He choked. Literally -- for one terrifying second, before his hacking cough dislodged that prodigious under-chewed hunk of sandwich. He spat it onto the plate and gasped a blessedly unobstructed breath.

****

"You!" Edward wheezed.

Conrad stared at him with surprise.

Edward grabbed his glass, guzzling the water to soothe his aching throat. "You nearly got me killed! Again!" he accused afterward.

Conrad shook his head and quoted, "I'm just a soul whose intentions are good..."

"Oh Lord," Edward sighed, then realized what he'd done when Conrad smirked.

He finished the lyric, "Please don't let me be misunderstood."

"You..."

"I haven't escaped custody," Conrad said, "and I don't wish you harm. I wanted to thank you, actually."

Edward eyed the Russian with suspicion. "Thank me for what?"

"For the opportunity to defect."

****

Edward stared.

Conrad sighed. "I shouldn't have bothered you. I'll--"

"Sit," Edward interrupted, pointing to the seat across from him.

Conrad obeyed, looking surprised he'd done so. "Edward--"

"Explain," Edward snapped. Conrad startled at the unexpected authoritative display. Edward growled, "You're an asshole and I don't have all day."

"I won't waste your time," Conrad vowed. "I am sorry for how we met, but not that we did. I've wanted to see you again. In a... sincere context."

Edward frowned. "I have no reason to trust you."

"Indeed." Conrad agreed.

Nonetheless, Edward scribbled his number on a napkin. "Call me." 

****

Conrad took the napkin. "Are you serious?"

"Take it before I come to my senses," Edward declared, waving a hand. "The most frustrating thing about that day for me was how no one listened to what I had to say. I should at least hear your side."

Conrad looked almost pathetically grateful. "Thank you."

Edward looked at his unfinished meal. He'd lost his appetite for the sandwich now, and besides...

"I have to get back to the lab."

"I won't keep you."

"Call after six," Edward instructed. "I'll be working until then." 

And he'd have time to confirm Conrad's claims.

****

After they exchanged greetings that evening, Conrad asked, "What did Iverson tell you?"

"That you've been properly vetted," Edward replied smoothly, unashamed of his precaution. "Are you surprised?"

"That you've asked after me?" Conrad laughed, "No, I'm flattered. You never struck me as foolish, Edward. You have hidden depths."

"Yes, I'm sure you've thought of those," Edward said dryly, earning another laugh.

"Perhaps..." Conrad drew out the word.

Edward wondered, "How _do_ you go from having 'no problem shooting me and ransacking my corpse' to turning on the KGB?"

"You _never_ waste time, hm?"

" _You_ never give a straight answer."

****

"Straight is less fun."

Edward snorted. "I wouldn't know."

"You can keep up with me," Conrad said, amused. "I like that."

"Mm-hm."

Conrad huffed. Maybe he was smoking again. "I was good at my job, Edward. That doesn't mean I enjoyed the violence, the killing. But appearances matter as well."

"You didn't want to shoot me."

" _No_." Conrad sounded annoyed.

Edward grinned, and teased, "So you're full of shit."

Conrad grumbled, "Smug bastard."

"Only sometimes."

Conrad went quiet, then sighed. "I thought you were acting. Before."

"So I gathered."

"I'm used to lies." 

"Were _you_ acting? Faking interest. Before."

"No."

****

"Oh." Edward had suspected as much, hoped for it. But somehow, that simply reply still took him by surprise. Conrad cleared his throat, and Edward spoke hurriedly, "I'm glad. I worried this might end with you apologizing for leading me on."

"Quite the opposite," Conrad replied. "I was hoping we could meet up again. Without any potentially fatal misunderstanding."

"I'd like that."

'This is stupid,' a rational part of Edward lamented. 'He's cute, but you're stupid. Why take such risk?'

"I've been given many second chances lately. I'll try to be worth of them. And you."

'...risk assessment be damned.'


End file.
